


Magnifico

by vodkaandlime



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angel/Human Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cages, Circus, Cruelty, Fire, Flying, Flying Sex, M/M, Mild Smut, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkaandlime/pseuds/vodkaandlime
Summary: Freddie thinks the captured angel is the saddest sight he’s ever seen.When Magnifico's Circus acquires an angel to thrill the crowds Freddie, Brian and John vow to free him.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Brian May
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Magnifico

Freddie thinks the captured angel is the saddest sight he’s ever seen.

The angel cost a fortune - John has told him so – but John says the circus has already more than recouped the cost from advance ticket sales – provincial towns are keen to marvel at the rare beauty of a tamed angel. 

Not that the angel has been tamed – not really - the leather straps holding his jaw shut are testament to that.

Freddie wonders what it is like to really take flight – to unfurl powerful wings and soar into the sky flying high and swiftly.

Freddie flies through the sawdust and sequinned popcorn and candyfloss scented air of the big top hurtling from one trapeze to the other during his death-defying act. Freddie thinks of it as flying but deep down he knows he is merely leaping, rescuing himself from falling – falling with skill. 

He tells the angel this, standing by the bars of the cage. 

The angel can swoop and dive, roll and hover.

Or he could have done that.

Now, his feathers have been carefully clipped. 

Freddie should not be here sneaking a look at the glorious and brutally constrained angel. He murmurs kind words to the angel. He does not think the cage is big enough to allow the angel to fully spread his newly clipped wings and the thought cracks his heart open. 

Freddie whirls round as someone behind him remarks on the loveliness of the angel. Freddie relaxes as he realises it is Brian. Freddie insists fiercely to Brian that the angel should be free and Brian agrees.

Later, perched on the steps of Freddie’s caravan they drink wine and John shakes his head – no – the angel has brought great financial gain to Magnifico’s Circus and should not be released.

Brian observes that they will not see any of the money. Their meagre wages will remain meagre – their costumes and props will not be replaced. The coins the angel brings will line the old man’s pockets, weighing them down heavy with sin. 

John says perhaps, yes, perhaps that is true but the riches the angel generates will mean none of them are laid off. 

Freddie feels their eyes upon him – the longest serving trapeze artist – ripe for forced retirement as the lithe and supple teenagers he has taught the tricks of the trade to snap at his heels, eager to take his place. Freddie bows his head then raises it again – eyes blazing – because the angel can only save him for so long – the march of time is relentless.

The angel ought to be free. 

Freddie looks at Brian and asks in a trembling voice if Brian thinks the angel will ever be able to fly properly again?

Brian considers this. Brian knows things – knows about living beings – Brian is a champion of all those who cannot speak for themselves. 

And the angel has been cruelly silenced. 

Brian says that the angel’s wings have been clipped just enough to prevent him flying high and potentially escaping – however this is an elite circus with supposedly sophisticated handlers so the angel can still fly just enough to provide a breathtaking spectacle for the expectant paying audiences in the big top. Brian is not an expert on angels – no one is really as they are so rare – but he thinks that – yes – in theory – if they were allowed to – the flight feathers could re-grow and the angel would fly once more. 

Of course, the circus will not allow the angel’s flight feathers to flourish. 

Freddie exhales realising he has been holding his breath. The world spins on. 

Brian wants to free all of the caged animals and creatures in the circus including the angel. Especially the angel, he thinks. 

Sometimes Brian contemplates what he might have done with his life if he had not been the son of the knife-throwing act – an act Brian has inherited – flinging knives at a bright-eyed young woman called Peaches now that his parents have stopped travelling and retired to suburbia.

Occasionally Brian harbours fantasises about becoming a vet. He needs to save all the afflicted animals. 

Brian is curious about the angel. Not much is known about angels. They are vanishingly rare – hunted for their magical properties.

Nowadays not much is known about their magical properties either.

When captured they are prevented from speaking either through a muzzle or bridle or other gag or restraint or by having their tongues cut out. Brian supposes it is a small mercy that their angel has been left intact.

But nothing should have to live in a cage. 

Later still, Brian bends over the table in John’s cosy caravan, trousers pooled around his ankles and John pounds into him from behind – hands grasping Brian’s lean hips – fast and hard – a furious coupling – is this love-making – is this love - the only sounds their pants and groans. 

“You think he’s right don’t you?” John says afterwards when they are naked in the compact bed Brian is too long for – sometimes feeling he fits nowhere.

Yes, Brian answers – yes, he thinks Freddie is right and the angel should be free. Has John seen the angel, he asks. 

John has not seen the angel. The angel troubles him. John deals with figures. He works with numbers. In John’s account ledgers the angel is a blessing. The angel adds up. The angel brings prosperity. The figures are good.

The figures are good but at what price?

Perhaps John has been spending too much time with Brian. John prides himself on being level-headed and practical while Brian is a romantic. Brian wants to save everything and everyone no matter how impossible or impractical that may be.

But can John honestly say that Brian is wrong to want that?

He cannot.

He finds Brian irritating and captivating in almost equal measures. He loves Brian with a burning intensity and he fucks him with a passion that surprises him. 

Brian thinks it is possible to save everyone and everything. Brian thinks it is worth trying to save the world. John suspects Brian is doomed to constant disappointment and the thought fills John with rage. 

Brian thinks the angel should be free. 

Freddie, who is kind and wise and caring, thinks the angel should be free. 

Perhaps, John thinks, he should see the angel for himself and make up his own mind.

It is raining and the morning is dull when John makes his way to the enclosure where the animals are kept. The angel is here – amongst the animals – being treated like an animal. John understands why Brian and Freddie wish to release him before he even reaches the cage the angel has been locked in.

As if the bars of the cage were not enough to contain the angel he is manacled and handcuffed and has leather straps holding his jaw shut. John has seen the invoices for the liquid diet the angel is receiving – his handler will not risk allowing the angel to open his mouth so he is fed through a straw.

John helped Mary research the legal requirements for keeping an angel for personal use or for show. This is perfectly legal. This is, in fact, more generous than the legal requirements. They are a world renowned elite circus so of course they treat their possessions well. 

That the angel legally has an owner fills John with a mix of rage and despair, the emotions taking him by surprise.

There is, he knows, an ongoing debate about the minimum dimensions for an angel cage. Activists are lobbying for a change to the existing law – they want angels to be able to fully spread their wings in their cages. They argue that it hurts angels if they cannot stretch their wings to their full span. 

John stands in front of the cage. The size of the cage is not the problem, he thinks. The existence of the cage is the problem. 

Their eyes meet through the bars of the cage. The angel has the most sorrowful eyes John has ever seen. “Are you able to spread your wings?” John asks. The angel shakes his head. John nods, his mind made up. “If we can find a way to free you then we shall,” he announces. The angel, unable to smile, inclines his head towards John who thinks it is the most regal gesture he has ever seen. 

But of course the keys are carefully guarded. 

The old man himself has a set of keys and so does the handler. They find no opportunities to steal them. 

In the end, Fate intervenes.

Dark clouds gather over the big top as the audience file in. The first fat drops of rain start to fall as the clowns tumble into the arena.

The rain is a deafening drumbeat on the canvas roof as Freddie flings himself from one trapeze to the other, spinning and turning in the air.

There is an ominous rumble of thunder as the angel is led into the circus ring – his trainer has him on a lead. They halt in the centre of the circle and the trainer encourages the angel to spread his wings. Even the thunder does not drown out the awed gasps of the audience. The angel is paraded around the ring for the delight of the crowd.

The interior of the tent brightens momentarily as lightening flashes outside. The downpour seems to intensify, thunder crashes right overhead now.

A noise like the world is ending. 

And a sudden brilliant flash of light that blinds and dazzles. 

The big top is on fire. The audience are screaming and fleeing into the rain. The ground is a sea of mud which slows them down. They trample over the fallen in their haste and panic.

The fire spreads quickly despite the torrential rain. 

In the confusion the angel bats his handler aside with one of his powerful wings and flutters upwards, towards the flames, out of reach. He hovers over the panicking people, his beautiful wings spread wide.

Freddie has been watching the angel from the sidelines along with John and Brian and most of the other performers. They are not near an exit and have kept well back from the stampeding crowd. But the smoke is getting thicker and burning canvas is drifting downwards. 

As the angel rises up into the hot and smoky air Freddie darts forwards, heading for one of the ropes that lead up to the trapeze. Miraculously it is not yet burning. He ignores Brian and John’s pleas for him to come back – to stop.

He climbs, hand over hand, shinning up the rope until he nears the angel. “Darling, come back down and let us free your mouth,” he calls. Their eyes meet. The angel nods.

Freddie slides back down the rope, somersaulting to the floor of the ring. The angel is already there and Brian’s long fingers are fumbling with the straps clamping the angel’s jaws together. 

It is getting very hot in the tent now. The whole roof above them is ablaze. The angel-handler dithers, considering interfering – probably thinking of the worth of the angel but a large piece of burning material flaps to the ground near him and he scarpers. 

Not that he gets very far – people are still thronging the exits. People are being crushed. Some people are now on fire. The flames lick along the fabric of the tent. The smoke undulates through the space. The fire is a living thing looking to devour everything and everyone it meets. 

Brian gently loosens the straps around the angel’s face and carefully eases them away from his mouth and skin. The angel gasps. “Oh, thank you!” he croaks, his voice hoarse. The angel reaches for Freddie, pulling him close and pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. Then the angel tips his head back, his long golden hair rippling down his back, and mutters words they do not understand.

John is the first to recover, noting that magical transportation is a useful skill. The burning tent has vanished and they are outside Freddie’s caravan. The angel is using his wings to shelter them from the pelting rain. John thanks the angel and asks Freddie if they can enter his caravan out of the rain. 

The small space is cramped with four of them inside it, although they discover the angel can usefully retract his magnificent wings to a fraction of their size. He notices them staring. “It starts to hurt after a while,” he tells them, “so I don’t do it often. I’m Roger,” he adds, “thank you for saving my life.” 

“Thank you for saving ours, dear,” Freddie smiles.

When it becomes too painful for the angel to keep his wings in compact form he folds them all within his wings on Freddie’s bed. His feathers are warm and cosy and they slumber, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. There have been screams and sirens and shouts but now there is simply rain.

In the rosy dawn smoke is still drifting upwards from the charred remains of the big top. Many people have died in the fire. The old man himself has perished – rumours whisper that he ran into the blazing tent to search for his most treasured most prized possession – the angel. 

In the days following the fire with the old man gone Magnifico’s Circus disperses like the smoke from the fire. The performers disappear to work for other companies, to live different lives. 

Freddie, Brian and John pool their resources and purchase a house on the outskirts of a large town. There is a forest nearby – the sort of forest they hadn’t realised still existed in this world – where no one goes. John works from home handling the accounts for businesses nearby. Freddie paints and sells his art work at a small market in the town occasionally illustrating children’s books for publishing companies. Brian enrols in the town’s small college to train to become a vet.

The angel utters magical words and their garden gives him fruit and vegetables, the house cleans and tidies itself and the kitchen conjures up casseroles and cakes. The angel plays with the cats Freddie attracts. 

The rooms of their house are generously proportioned in order to accommodate their angel’s wings. When the size of his wings attracts comments the angel remarks with a saucy wink that his wings are not the only large thing about him. The angel is full of laughter. The angel provides soft downy hugs.

The angel seems astonished by the extent of Freddie’s desire for him. Angels are not seen as sexual beings, he says – they are wanted for their magic but people fear sullying their purity by doing anything as crude as fucking them. 

Perhaps, Freddie suggests, people are afraid that if they touch an angel in that way the magic will be turned against them.

The angel is amused by this and suggests that Freddie is not afraid of being cursed by him. Freddie laughs and says the angel wouldn’t dare and the angel agrees.

It occurs to Freddie that an angel might age differently. Is the angel a minor, he asks, just a baby?

No, Roger replies crossly, he is not a fucking baby and he is not a virgin either.

This awakens a new worry for Freddie – wouldn’t Roger prefer a nice angel to fuck? 

There is a sad silence before Roger tells him that his nice angel was fatally injured when Roger was captured by the hunters who sold him to the circus. Freddie holds him close reminding him how loved he is.

There are hand jobs and blow jobs. Angels do it in the air, apparently, but the angel’s flight feathers are still growing back. Freddie wonders if he could service the angel in the meantime.

Roger’s feathers whisper over Freddie’s bare skin, a wing-tip tickles his arse. Roger’s voice is full of laughter and delight as he says yes - he’d like that very much.

Freddie’s angel is surprisingly shy at the thought of John and Brian hearing them so they wait until they have the house to themselves. Roger tucks his wings up out of the way lest he is too tickly – Freddie rather likes the idea of being tickled by Roger’s feathers but Roger says this – what he calls their first proper time together – is a momentous occasion and must be taken seriously. Roger says this with a mischievous quirk of his lips and Freddie kisses him. 

He starts slowly, feeling oddly shy with his angel. It is Roger he reminds himself, silly loveable Roger who spins his magic to make their lives easier. He kisses Roger all over marvelling at how beautiful he is. He slides one finger inside the angel and Roger makes a little breathy sound that tugs at his heart. He adds a second finger, scissoring them, teasing his angel and is entranced when Roger’s compactly folded wings twitch. He cannot resist reaching out his other hand and gently touching Roger’s quivering feathers. Roger giggles delightfully. Intrigued, Freddie asks if his angel finds this ticklish which Roger denies but Freddie does not fully believe him. He stores this knowledge away for future reference. 

Roger seems to ripple on top of the covers as Freddie slides a third finger inside him. He utters something in the magical language he uses and Freddie is not afraid of being cursed for fucking an angel – truly he is not – but he feels a little flutter of excitement at the thought that Roger is being – well, angelic, Freddie supposes – with him.

Roger pleads prettily and almost coherently for Freddie to enter him. Freddie obliges, his hand stroking Roger’s weeping cock. His lips graze Roger’s neck and Roger moans, begging him to move. Freddie finds a rhythm, discovers the magic angle to hit Roger’s prostate and shouts an unexpected declaration of love as he cums.

Roger makes a shocked noise as he cums although whether this is due to Freddie telling him he loves him or simply from the sensations washing over him Freddie cannot tell. Freddie goes to the bathroom and returns with a damp flannel to gently clean Roger with. Roger has propped himself up on one elbow and is regarding Freddie with an expression he cannot fathom. “And I love you,” Roger tells him.

Sometimes Roger flies in the forest. His flight feathers are not yet restored to their full glory so he cannot soar as high as he’d like to. But he is lucky, he knows, to be able to fly at all, to be alive.

Soon, he thinks, he will be able to fly with Freddie and to make love to him up here with the breeze tousling their hair and the sun warm on their skin. Roger has dreamed of this and considered it carefully too.

When the time comes he leads Freddie to his favourite clearing in the forest and they picnic there sipping champagne, Roger feeding his lover strawberries and revelling in how Freddie tastes when he kisses him. They undress each other, caressing sun-warmed skin, taking their time. Roger prepares Freddie while they are still grounded before he gathers him in his arms and soars into the air with him, murmuring a request to Freddie to hold on to him although his magic will keep Freddie aloft.

Freddie has no intention of letting go. Freddie has no intention of ever letting go of Roger, now or ever.

Roger’s thrusts match the steady beat of his heart and the steady beat of his wings.

It is almost overwhelming – the air on Freddie’s skin fanned by Roger’s wings – the sun warm on his back and Roger’s mouth warm against his – the hypnotic sound of Roger’s wings beating and their own gasps and pants – the feeling of Roger, solid against him, suspended in air. It is almost too much. He closes his eyes as he cums – lights bursting behind his eyelids. He hears Roger say something in his unknown language just before he becomes insensible. 

Freddie is in the bath when the world intrudes again. Roger is in the bath with him – his arms lightly circling Freddie. Roger’s voice is full of concern as he asks if Freddie is okay and Freddie replies that he is – he has never been better. 

And sometimes Freddie and the angel fly high amongst the trees, tumbling and twisting, Freddie clasped safely in Roger’s arms. 

It is every bit as good as Freddie imagined it would be.


End file.
